24. Don't Go Breaking My Endorphin
by Colin Cotterill
My body's incredible. Really. You should see it. I'm not boasting here, either. My body isn't any more incredible than yours. Your body's a living marvel too. Take a good look at it some time, and while you're looking, think about all the parts that could go wrong.
I bought a telephone answering machine on special last year. After two weeks it broke down. Two weeks. Imagine what a state we'd be in if nature showed as little care for detail as that phone company. Can you see it? New baby. You haven't been home from the hospital ten days and it goes wrong. Its nose falls off. You take it back to the hospital and queue up at the service counter. The clerk notes down the registration number.
“Yeah. This happens all the time. It's the climate. Leave it with me and we'll get a spare part from head office. Give me a call in a couple of weeks and we'll see if it's working. Okay?”
How would we ever make it to 20, to 30, to 40? By then the warranty would have expired so long they'd laugh at you if you tried to exchange yourself for a new one.
Yet, here I am somewhere between fifty and sixty and I'm riding a bicycle up the mountain in the heat of April. On the journey I often think about how amazing my body is; how muscles and joints still function after all these years of abuse. How can my heart continue to pump five liters of blood around my body every minute for fifty-two years? That's…well, I don't do maths but it's probably enough to fill a Great Lake . My Suzuki jeep got through two pumps in three years.
This morning I stopped in the shade of the Royal Airforce sala at kilometer twelve and listened to my heart thumping, or perhaps I just imagined I could hear it. It felt so strong and defiant. It was almost thanking me for giving it the challenge. I think it was then I worked out why the heart is a symbol of love. It has nothing to do with chemistry or biology. The heart doesn't give off electrical impulses or scents or erotic fluids in the presence of a loved one. It largely ignores her.
Indeed it would seem more logical to use the shape of a lip, a ripe endorphin molecule, or a testicle on the front of a Valentine's card, (although perhaps it wouldn't sell quite as well). Yet we continue to use the shape of a heart. Why? Because as long as we live, the heart continues to beat. We do everything we can to test it but still it pumps away. It endures. Even when our lips are dry and unkissable, our endorphins have lost interest, and our testicles shrivel up and vanish, our hearts are still beating proudly.
That's the symbol we want to associate with love. We want it to last forever. Even when we reach the age when his stomach spreads all the way round to his back, and she looks like Pavarotti before she puts on her makeup, we want to continue to feel that love pumping through our veins to the end. (Sorry, guys. This column was a bit sickly, wasn't it.) I love you all.
Think about it.
MOST OF US DON'T START TO TAKE CARE OF OUR BODIES UNTIL THEY LOOK RUN DOWN AND UNATTRACTIVE. IN MOST CASES THAT'S THIRTY YEARS TOO LATE. |